Perfection
by broadwaystarxoxo
Summary: Monica Geller is striving for perfection. She'll go to great lengths to achieve it... Warning: ED triggering.
1. Prologue

**Perfection**

**By: broadaystarxoxo**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Friends :'(**

* * *

_She is running a hundred miles an hour in the wrong direction...So she sets out on another misadventure just to find, she's another two years older and three more steps behind._

_-Casting Crowns, "Does Anybody Hear Her?"_

* * *

**Prologue**

The brunette's eyelids fluttered. Instead of being in her own bedroom, she was in a quite unfamiliar, small room, with cupboards and a sink and a small, uncomfortable bed. She was overwhelmed with the crisp, clean aroma of IV fluid.

She looked down at her small, bony wrist to read the bracelet that had been fastened to her against her will. _Monica Elizabeth Geller_, it read. _DOB: 04-22-1969. Admitted 07-22-1985. Height: 5'5. Weight: 98 lbs. _

98.

Ninety-eight.

She then remembered why she was here.

In a panic, Monica whipped her head to the left. There was an IV pole next to her. Two bags were hanging from the top. Monica traced the clear bag's tube to the crook of her elbow, where the tube was held in place by several layers of medical tape. The second bag was opaque. She followed its tube, and then horror struck.

It was a feeding tube in her nose.

She instantly tried to yank the tube out from her nose but soon discovered that this hurt more than it was worth. They had obviously lodged the tube up there pretty damn far.

After a few more tugs of the tube, Monica sat back on her bed, tears springing in her eyes. She hadn't wanted it to come to this. That wasn't part of the plan.

It hadn't ever crossed her mind that this would become as addictive as drugs or alcohol.

A single tear fell down sixteen year old Monica Geller's bony cheek. She breathed a shaky breath.

Ninety eight pounds.

That was the lowest she'd ever been.

The brunette looked around the room. It was the twenty fourth. According to her bracelet, she had been out since the twenty second. And yet, the room was void of any people. There wasn't a get-well-soon card in sight.

The twenty-fourth. Ross's Quiz Bowl qualifiers were on the twenty-fourth. That's where her parents were, while she was alone and frightened in the hospital.

She looked at the bracelet again. Ninety eight pounds.

Apparently that wasn't good enough for Jack and Judy Geller.

She reached down to pinch her concave stomach. There was still some fat there.

A tear fell from her eye once again, dropping on her hospital gown with a single thud.

Ninety eight pounds. She could go lower.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading guys...I'm just going to warn you right now, this fic is going to be seriously triggering if you have/had an eating disorder. To be honest, I am not looking for a million reviews on this story. It is just kind of a way for me to let out my feelings and frustrations with my eating disorder. I suffered from severe OCD and anorexia for a very long time. A lot of the things that will happen in this story are things that have happened with me in my journey through this. So please, if you don't like it, then that's completely okay. But this isn't really a story that I'm using my best writing in, so I'm not looking for any constructive criticism on this one :) Thanks for understanding, and you are welcome to review with any thoughts you have on it.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N:** Hey! Thanks so much to everybody that read the last chapter (or prologue, I should say).

**Perfection**

**By: broadwaystarxoxo**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Friends or the characters or any of the songs I use.**

* * *

_I don't know the first time I felt unbeautiful, the day I chose not to eat. What I do know is how it changed my life forever. I know I should know better._

_-Superchick, "Courage"_

* * *

**Chapter One**

_July 1983._

"Hurry up, Mon!" Rachel Green called behind her shoulder as she speed-walked through the pool parking lot. "All the good tanning chairs are gonna get taken!"

Fourteen year old Monica Geller popped out of the passenger seat of her brother's new car, trying to apply sunscreen to her large calves. She had been told by the doctors and her parents that she was overweight and should try to shed a few pounds, but the fact of the matter was that Monica didn't want to. She was perfectly content the way she was. It didn't matter to her.

"I'm coming, I just have to finish my sunscreen! Save me a chair!"

Rachel nodded and jogged to the pool entrance. Monica turned back around to Ross, who was looking around the pool parking lot. He looked like he was looking for someone.

"What's your problem?" Monica asked her brother as she bent down to put sunscreen on the tops of her feet. She was very particular about these kinds of things. If her whole body wasn't coated evenly, it would make her anxious. She got anxious about many things, really. If the volume dial in Ross's car wasn't on an even number, she was anxious. If her room wasn't completely and thoroughly spotless, she was anxious.

Everything had to be perfect.

The brunette tossed her hair over her shoulder in waiting for Ross to respond. "Some of my buddies are supposed to be coming."

Monica snorted. "You have buddies?"

Ross frowned, annoyed. "Yeah, what, did you think I didn't have friends?"

Monica shrugged. Ross crumpled up a leaf from the top of his car and threw it at her.

When Monica was done applying her sunscreen, she walked to the pool entrance, excited. She and Rachel had gone bathing suit shopping the other day and she was excited to show off hers.

After showing her membership card to the security guard, Monica spotted Rachel instantly. She was directly across the pool from the entrance, laying in the sun next to another chair that she had placed their bags on to save it for Monica. Monica smiled and made her way over to her best friend.

"What took you so long? You know I hate looking like a loner," Rachel whined. Monica punched her lightly in the arm.

"You can never be too safe from the sun."

Rachel rolled her eyes, smiling at her friend's obvious obsessive quirk. "You're so lame. You don't want to be as pale as Ross, do you?"

Monica shrugged. "No, but nobody can be paler than Ross. Speaking of him, apparently he has 'buddies' coming."

Rachel grimaced. "Ugh! Please. We don't need a bunch of science nerds swooning all over us."

Monica looked towards the entrance and lowered her sunglasses. "Whoa, Code Red Hot at twelve o'clock."

Rachel immediately jerked upwards, lowering her sunglasses so that she could see. About seven buff guys that went to Lincoln High with them came meandering onto the concrete, all of them shirtless.

"Hello, sexies," Rachel said under her breath. "Oh my God, Mon, does my hair look okay?"

Monica nodded, not even turning to look at her friend's hair. Instead she was focusing on the hunk parade that had just entered.

All of the sudden, Monica thought she saw somebody familiar among them. She cupped her hands over her eyes so she could see in the sun.

"Oh my God, Rach," she said, "I think those are Ross's friends."

Rachel started to laugh. "Okay, what dangerous chemical did you inhale from all your sunscreen?"

Monica pointed at Ross, who looked like he was feeling on top of the world with these guys. Rachel followed he finger and then gasped.

"But how? They're seniors!"

"I think I know how," Monica sighed. She got up and started to walk over to Ross and his "friends". Rachel followed closely behind, fixing her hair every five steps.

When the two girls arrived at Ross's group of friends, Monica could instantly feel herself blushing as the boys checked them out. This always happened whenever she and Rachel went to the mall or the pool. Sometimes, they'd even get whistles.

"Ross," Monica said, pulling him aside. "Explain."

Ross sighed and leaned down to whisper in Monica's ear. "Okay, well, these guys asked me to let them copy all my exam notes. They said they'd do something in return, whatever I wanted. So, I told them to pretend to be my friends for two days."

Monica rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."

"Ross, who's your friend?" one of the buff guys asked, eyeing Rachel. Rachel winked and waved.

The two Gellers walked over to the group. "Um, this is my sister, Monica—"

"No, man, the hot one, not the fat ass."

Monica felt her cheeks getting red. Nobody had ever called her fat before.

At least...not to her face.

Monica felt the tears springing to her eyes. "Excuse me," she said quietly, scurrying towards the bathroom. She heard the boys snickering behind her.

"Mon!" she heard Rachel shout, but she payed no attention. She finally made it into the one-person girls bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it.

She never usually set foot into public bathrooms, but she had nowhere else to hide. She forced herself not to think about the dirt and germs.

Monica wiped a tear from her face, trying to calm herself down. She knew better than to take those guys seriously, but their words were so hurtful. Nobody had ever been that man to her before while Rachel was around. Everybody loved her and Rachel. Guys whistled at her and Rachel.

That's when it clicked.

Monica stopped breathing for a moment and then gasped. They didn't like _her_, they didn't think _she _was attractive. Nobody did. They thought all of those things about Rachel. All of those things were directed towards _Rachel_.

Her heart pounding a mile a minute, the youngest Geller grabbed the sides of the bathroom sink and faced herself in the mirror. She started noticing things about herself that she hadn't noticed before.

Fat.

Fat thighs, fat stomach, fat arms, fat face, fat ass.

Ugly.

Ugly hair, ugly nose, ugly eyes, ugly hips, ugly body.

Imperfect.

That's when Monica started to cry harder than she ever had before. All of these things, how could she have been so blind of them before? The fat stacking in rolls off of her torso, weighing her down more every minute...it's like they hadn't been there five minutes before.

Monica was well aware of Rachel and Ross's voices on the other end of the door, but she payed no attention. She pinched the fat on her stomach and gasped. Why, why, why had she worn a bikini? It was the grossest thing she'd ever seen. It was like seeing an old man in a speedo, but worse. It was a morbidly obese girl in a bikini.

She, the biggest control freak in the world, had lost all control of herself.

* * *

"Monica, dear, dinner's ready," Judy Geller called to her daughter that night.

There was no answer at first. "Monica!" the frazzled mother of two called again. "Dinner!"

"I already ate, mom," Monica finally spoke. "They were grilling hot dogs at the pool." Judy shrugged and went to grab dinner for herself.

Upstairs, in her room, Monica Geller fell back on her bed, sighing. She had never lied to her mother before.


	3. Chapter Two

**Perfection**

**By: broadwaystarxoxo**

* * *

_"I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very very mad world."_**  
**

_-Gary Jules, "Mad World"_

* * *

_September 1983._

Saturday morning. Fourteen year old girls across the country are still sleeping, gracious for their first day of sleeping in after five straight days of awaking to an alarm clock. When their eyes gradually flutter open from the sunlight pressing softly at their eyelids, often they will lay in bed for a few moments longer, savoring the sweet peacefulness, nothing whatsoever crossing their minds but the relief that they will not have to trudge through school and deal with obnoxious teachers.

But not Monica Geller.

The brunette awoke quite abruptly, sitting up in bed and whipping her head around to look at the clock. Seven o clock on the dot. A small smile crept onto Monica's face. She had trained herself to wake up at exactly that time every single morning.

Her mind was immediately bombarded with thoughts and questions. _Did I lose any weight? Did I gain any weight? Let's see, yesterday I only had five hundred calories, but the day before I didn't have anything, so I could have gained weight..._

She tore the covers off of herself and made her way to the bathroom. Ross was still asleep, and her parents were long gone for work by now. She closed the door softly and then turned on the light.

Monica turned to face what had been her temple for the past four months. It had always been there, but she hadn't realized its importance until its numbers became her obsession.

Taking a deep breath, Monica shedded her pajamas, standing in only her bra and underwear. She didn't dare look in the mirror; she knew better by now. She knew that if she looked, she wouldn't want to step on the scale.

She exhaled as much as she could and then stepped on the cold digital scale. She waited patiently for it to boot up; she hated this scale. She wanted to ask her parents to buy a regular one, but then they would wonder why she cared.

Finally, three numbers were displayed. Monica closed her eyes and then looked down, anxious.

Monica groaned and then stepped back off, wanting to punch something. She had gained a pound. Yesterday she was 141, and now she was 142. She had only lost fifteen pounds since she decided to turn her life around.

In the beginning, she often asked herself what her goal was. She didn't know at first, she just wanted to be pretty. She wanted to be perfect and loved and absolutely perfect, like a certain Rachel Green. That's when Monica decided that her goal was to keep going until the day that someone told her she looked beautiful.

She threw her pajamas back on and then went downstairs to the dark kitchen. Flipping the lights on, she decided to cook something. It always made her feel better about herself because it made her feel accomplished. It was also an excuse to try and get her parents to feel prouder of her. She had been told by her friends that she was an amazing cook; all she wanted was for her parents to tell her the same.

Monica grabbed the fridge handle. Pictures of Ross winning spelling bees and awards adorned the fridge, and Monica's school picture (the only picture of her on there) was halfway covered with Ross's outstanding PSAT scores.

An hour later, a beautiful display of French toast sat on the kitchen table. As Monica dusted powdered sugar off of her hands, she couldn't help but crack a smile. Cooking seemed to be one of the only things that gave her joy lately.

It was terribly ironic.

* * *

She heard an obnoxious, reoccurring _beep _from the IV machine that broke her from her thoughts. She looked over and saw that the feeding tube bag was lifeless and empty, needing to be filled. Immediately, two nurses walked into the room and changed the bag within a minute. They said nothing to her, they simply nodded as they walked out and closed the door.

Monica shifted in her hospital bed, trying to get comfortable. Her bony hips and the hard hospital cot were not a happy pairing.

Finally, after a few hours, a different nurse knocked on the door and then entered the room.

"Ms. Geller?" the middle-aged woman asked.

"That's me."

"You have a visitor."

Monica raised an eyebrow. She had no idea who it could be, wanting to visit her. Ross and her parents were at their stupid Quiz Bowl, and Rachel had been down in Florida since two weeks ago.

The nurse spoke again after a short moment. "He's not a part of your immediate family, so we need your permission to let him visit."

"Who is he?" Monica asked, her voice weak.

She looked down at her clipboard. "Chandler Bing. Do you know him?"

Monica felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. "No," she said after much thought. "I've never heard of him in my life."

* * *

**A/N: **First off, sorry it was so terribly short! It was all I could scrounge up, with studying for finals and AP exams and all :) Next chapter will be longer, promise!

Second, thanks so much to all that have reviewed. Love you!


	4. Chapter Three

__**Perfection**

**By: broadwaystarxoxo**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Friends :'( /3 If I did, Charlie would be dead. I hate her. :P**

* * *

_"I couldn't tell you why she felt that way. She felt it every day. I couldn't help her, I just watched her make the same mistakes again."_

_-Avril Lavigne, "Nobody's Home"_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_November 1983._

It was the day that Monica had been dreading for quite some time now. She always wrote things down on her wall calendar months before they were to occur, and so she had known about this day for a while. As it approached, more and more sleepless nights were bestowed onto her, causing chronic dark circles under her eyes. Makeup partially covered them up, but by the end of the day the makeup would wear off and anyone could tell that she was intentionally trying to cover them.

On this day, Monica woke with a start at 6:09. Fifty-one minutes earlier than usual. She felt her empty stomach twist in knots. She was doing so good, and today was going to ruin it. The only thing that she was more afraid of than being fat was being even fatter, and she knew that once she ate a bite of that Thanksgiving turkey she wouldn't be able to stop herself.

Monica groaned quietly and lay back down in bed. Not only was today Thanksgiving, but she also had her regular physical today. She still had not figured out what she was going to do about that. She wasn't nearly thin enough for concern to be caused just by looking at her; she was still about 130, but losing thirty pounds isn't exactly something that a doctor sees and doesn't question. The pounds had been shedding off erratically; at first it was slow, but then she would have small bursts of weight loss. Sometimes she was so hungry that she couldn't take it anymore and ate lunch at school, and then she'd get home and weight herself instantly. Every single time she ate lunch at school (which totaled to about 4 since the school year began in September) she ended up gaining a pound once she got home.

Sometimes it was hard, not eating, but all she had to do was remind herself of that day at the pool. It made her appetite run away in fright.

She instantly got up and walked over to the bathroom scale. She had to be extra careful because her parents were here this morning. They had gotten work off for Thanksgiving.

She sighed when she saw the scale's glowing numbers. 130. She had been 130 for five straight days now. That was new; she usually at least gained or lost a pound every couple of days at the most.

But what most concerned her at that moment was the doctor's visit today. It was at 8:30, so she had two and a half hours to try to put as much artificial weight on as possible. Her parents had not noticed her weight loss, probably because they didn't pay attention to her very much, but a doctor would. Monica was smart enough to know that losing too much weight in a short period of time could be very dangerous.

But if it would make her perfect, it was worth it.

* * *

She held her breath as she stepped onto the manual scale at the pediatrician's office downtown. Her whole morning had been spent preparing for this very moment. She didn't even have time to have breakfast. "Having breakfast" for Monica these days consisted of preparing herself a normal sized breakfast, mashing it up with her fork, dumping the food down the garbage disposal, putting her dirty fork and plate in the sink, and then telling her parents that she had breakfast earlier.

She felt herself shaking of nervousness from under the bulkiest sweatshirt she owned and her baggy jeans. The nurse moved the scale weights around until it balanced perfectly. Monica couldn't let herself look.

"Wow, did you lose weight?"

She could literally feel her muscles paralyze. "Um, I don't know."

"Well, it says here you've lost about five pounds. That's great!" she said, waving her hand to indicate that Monica could step off the scale. The fourteen year old tried her best to hide her sigh of relief.

"Oh, cool," she said, smiling. "I guess it's from all that running we have to do in gym."

The nurse led Monica and her mother into one of the patient rooms. Monica could feel Ross's heavy little science magnets taped against her upper arms. She wanted to kiss them right now.

"That's great. That was really the only weight that we were suggesting you lose, so just keep up the exercise and you should stay at this normal weight," the nurse suggested. Monica couldn't stop the smirk from appearing on her face; knowing something the nurse didn't know made her feel in control. Control was good.

* * *

"Ross, get off the phone," Monica groaned, "I have to call Rachel about coming to our Thanksgiving dinner." It was about three o clock in the afternoon, and all Monica had done since she got home from the doctor's earlier that morning was lay on her bed, dreading the night to come. Her family didn't usually have dinner together at one table, so it was going to be harder to hide her restricting. She knew that she would have to put _something _in her mouth or else her extended family would notice that something was wrong. Monica was notorious for shoveling down her food on Thanksgiving. The turkey, the mashed potatoes with brown gravy, the corn bread, the cranberry sauce...it would be piled to the ceiling on Monica's plate and then gone in the next ten minutes.

_No wonder I got so fat..._Monica thought, lying on her bedroom floor. This had been her favorite holiday. Why shouldn't it have been? It was a whole day dedicated to _eating_. Eating was the Old Monica's absolute favorite thing to do. If eating was a sport, Old Monica would hold the national title.

The fourteen year old smiled devilishly. Although it should have disgusted her, it made her more motivated to lose even more weight. If eating used to be her favorite thing in the world, then she needed more control than the average person to stop eating completely.

So far, she was successful. She was in control, and nothing made her happier.

She recognized her older brother's footsteps coming down the hallway. "There's this cool thing called 'patience'," he grumbled.

Monica rolled her eyes. "There's this cool thing called 'anything but Ross'."

Ross sighed. "Okay, whatever. I'm off the phone now."

"Who were you talking to, anyway?" she asked her older brother.

"My friend Chandler."

Monica's stomach gurgled. The last time Ross mentioned his 'friends' was that day at the pool...

"What schoolwork are you doing for him?"

"No, no, no, he's not a douche bag like those other guys were," Ross explained. He knew how bad Monica's feelings were hurt that day at the pool; he just didn't know what became of them. "He's a really nice guy, and we're both kind of misfits, you know? Anyways, he's really funny, and he's coming over for Thanksgiving because apparently Thanksgiving is very traumatic for him and he doesn't want to be at his house."

Monica shrugged. "Okay, whatever, bye."

Ross started to leave but then stopped in the doorway. He turned around. "Is, uh, is Rachel coming?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah, probably," Monica snapped.

"Why are you so moody lately?"

"Well, Ross, I have these funny little things called ovaries, and once a month—"

The sixteen year old boy put his fingers in his ears and ran out of the room. Monica smiled slightly, but then remembered that now she was dreading this night even more than before. Something she definitely did _not _need was another one of Ross's 'friends'.

The doorbell rang. Monica opened her eyes abruptly and looked at her bedside clock. It was five already. _I must have taken a nap_, she thought. She had been unusually tired lately, but she knew it was from restricting.

She felt her stomach grumble and she smiled. That was her new favorite feeling. It was extremely addictive.

She ran downstairs, praying that the person on the other side of the door was Rachel. Instead, she was surprised to find a boy that she did not recognize on the other side.

"Would you like to take the time to learn a little more about Jesus Christ?" he asked in a funny voice.

Monica raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

The serious face he had put on vanished into a smile. It was a really cute smile. "Just kidding."

Monica simply raised another eyebrow, thoroughly confused.

Chandler's eyes widened. "Oh, God, you aren't one of those extremely religious Christians, are you? Because if you are, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Jesus is really no laughing matter..."

"Relax, I'm Jewish," Monica said. The boy took a deep breath of relief.

"I'm Ross's friend, Chandler," he explained. "I make jokes when I'm nervous."

"Oh," Monica said, remembering. "I'm Ross's sister, come on in."

She stepped aside to let Chandler in. He was cuter than she'd imagined one of Ross's actual friends being. He had honey colored hair that was cut short and had a cute, playful face.

Throughout the rest of the night, she found her eyes gravitating towards Chandler. She didn't know what it was about him that she liked so much. Maybe it was the way that all of his jokes made her laugh obnoxiously; maybe it was how cute he was when he was sarcastic, which was often times. Or maybe it was just how adorable he was.

But the focus of Monica Geller's brain shifted from Chandler to the table in the one second that Judy Geller set the Thanksgiving turkey down right in front of her.

Monica gulped. She tried everything possible to divert her attention from the food. But even Chandler, who she couldn't take her eyes off of moments before, was dull and boring compared to the food set right in front of her.

She tried to refrain from breathing from her nose, but even breathing through her mouth brought the warm, meaty aroma towards her. She tried to imagine that every person at the table was one of the boys from the pool, watching her, waiting for her to gobble down all that food so they could call her fat again. She tried to envision all of the fat content and calories that the turkey was undoubtedly loaded up with.

She tried to harness all of her self control that she had possessed in the past six months, but it was like the fat girl inside of her had been slamming herself against the wall that Monica had worked so hard to build up.

And then, the wall finally broke.

She knew why, and she could not deny it: she had not eaten a single bit of food in two days.

Monica Geller was _hungry_.

* * *

She was positive that the door she had just slammed could be heard throughout the whole neighborhood.

Monica crumpled down onto the bathroom floor, tears streaming down her face and dropping onto the bathroom tile. She had failed. She had no control. She was not perfect. She would never be perfect. She was a failure.

Monica couldn't even look in the direction of the scale, for she knew that if she did, she would go weigh herself. And she was scared to death of what the three blinking numbers would be.

Three helpings of turkey. Four servings of mashed potatoes, drenched in gravy. Six butter rolls. Five scoops of fried okra.

Fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat.

The crying fourteen year old stood up after a few minutes, trying to dry her tears. She should have known better, but she looked up into the mirror.

What she saw was worse than she had seen in any horror movie.

Not only were there rolls upon rolls of fat layered on her sides, stomach, and thighs, but her cheeks were huge and protruding from her face. Everything was fat, even her hands. Scratch that: everything was _obese_. She was obese.

Monica made a quick decision. She made a beeline for her scale, stepping on it and trying not to cry even more as she waited for it to start up. She was surprised that she didn't break it, considering how fat she looked in the mirror just then.

She heard the responsive _beep_, and exhaled shakily for a moment before looking down.

She had gained three pounds.

Monica crumpled onto the floor again and sobbed uncontrollably. She had failed, and therefore she was not perfect. She was the most imperfect person on the planet.

Suddenly, Monica looked up, a new flame of determination sparking inside of her.

She had to get it out.

The brunette leaned against the sink cabinet, considering her options. Laxatives were out of the question, because they were in her mother's bathroom. She couldn't risk going all the way across the house, where someone might see her tear-stained face and know something was wrong.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back. She tried to breathe deeply and calmly for a moment. She knew that there was only one other way to get it out quickly.

Slowly, Monica turned to the roll of toilet paper resting on the bathroom counter. She tore off a perforated square and used it to lift the toilet lit; she wouldn't dare touch it herself, being the germaphobe that she was. She located the hair tie that was sitting on the counter and used it to tie her hair in a messy bun on top of her head.

Monica Geller watched one last tear drop into the toilet with a plunk sound before sticking two fingers down her throat.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, guys. Sorry it took me a few days longer to update, but I've been having some slight ED relapse issues, mainly some purging :/ I've been miserable the past few days so I didn't feel like writing anything, but then I sat down at the computer today to go on Facebook or something and bam, seven pages just came pouring out of me outta nowhere...it really does make me feel better to put all of my problems into words. Anyways, thanks for reading. I like it that so many people think this story is good...I was just writing it to express my feelings, but now I feel like it has a purpose now :) Thanks!

New chap soon :)


	5. Chapter Four

**Perfection**_  
_

**By: broadwaystarxoxo**

* * *

****_"Your knuckles are bruised from a losing fight. One way down a dead end street, broken glass underneath your feet, you think the day won't break the sunless night."_

_-Kara DioGuardi, "The Sun Will Rise"_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_January 1984._

"Monica, I don't like it," Rachel admitted to her best friend one January evening. The two were sitting at their table in a barbecue restaurant, Monica picking at her chicken Caesar salad.

Monica raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you not like Harrison Barbecue? We come here all the time."

"No, not that," Rachel said, shaking her head. "I don't like covering for you."

"You're not covering anything," Monica insisted, eating a few pieces of lettuce to show Rachel she was okay. "I'm just dropping a few pounds for Miami this summer."

Rachel sighed, eating a piece of chicken. She was almost done with her salad, but Monica had barely picked at hers. "But Mon, it's not normal. You look fine. Trust me, you look gorgeous with the weight you've lost, but you shouldn't try to lose any more."

Monica said nothing, staring down at her salad. She had already eaten a quarter of it. She didn't know how many calories it was; she was going to have to sneak off and ask for a nutrition information sheet later.

Rachel set her fork down, frustrated. "Fine. Whatever. Just tell me how much you weigh."

Monica scoffed. "Why would I know? I haven't weighed myself in, like, ever,"

Rachel stared at her. "Monica Geller, you're the worst actress in the world, now tell me. How much weight have you lost?"

Monica could feel her hand shaking, being put on the spot like that. She wasn't good with pressure. "Uh, I think, like, twenty-ish pounds?"

Rachel's mouth dropped. "Twenty pounds? Monica, you're insane. You didn't even look bad before."

"I was a fat ass and you know it," Monica said, her voice cracking from oncoming tears. _This is it,_ she thought. Rachel was going to find out. Why oh why did she say twenty? Ten would have been enough.

Fourteen year old Rachel Green was frustrated. "No you weren't! Okay, maybe you weren't as thin as some of the girls in our grade. Maybe you were a tad curvier than the average girl. But you were _not _fat."

Monica stood up, burrowing herself deeper in her old sweatshirt that she had gotten from New Jersey two years before. She was practically swimming in it now, but no one had to know that.

"Listen, I'm fine. I won't lose any more weight," Monica lied. She set a ten dollar bill on the table. "Here, I'm going to go home. I have a lot of homework. This should cover my part of the bill."

She could hear protests from Rachel behind her, but she pretended not to listen. She desperately wanted to go back and chat with her friend about mindless things like boys and mean teachers. She didn't want to lie. She didn't want to lose the only person she had left.

But she couldn't stop herself.

She didn't like lying to Rachel. Rachel was her best friend. She couldn't explain why she was lying. There was no way to put it into words. All she knew was that if she told the truth, somebody would think that she had a problem.

_No, I don't have a problem_, the girl told herself. _I'm just on a diet. That's what diets are like._

Deep down she knew that she was lying to herself. Throwing up was not what a diet was like. Starving herself was not what a diet was like. But she shoved those thoughts back down, like when a trashcan is about to overflow and you squish the trash back towards the bottom to make more room.

The whole walk home, Monica resumed beating herself up over her lie to Rachel. Why hadn't she said ten? That was a much more reasonable answer. However, if she was happy about one thing, it was that she hadn't said the real answer. Telling Rachel that she had lost forty pounds definitely would not have been smart.

Monica finally made it to the Geller residence. She ran to the backyard door, shivering underneath her sweatshirt. She didn't understand why she was so cold in springtime.

"Who's there?" Ross called from the living room. Monica could hear that he had muted the television, waiting for her response.

"Uh, it's me," she said. Monica could feel the salad churning in her stomach. She actually felt satisfied for the first time in a long time.

She hated that feeling.

The fourteen year old sighed, preparing herself for what was to come. She headed for the stairs. When she passed through the living room, she saw that Ross and his friend Chandler were there. Monica hadn't seen Chandler since that horrible Thanksgiving. She tried to walk quietly through to the stairs so that they would not notice her.

"Hey, Monica, how are you?" she heard Chandler ask. Monica cursed under her breath and then turned around.

_Awful. Terrible. Not losing enough weight. Hating myself daily. Stuck in a rut that I can't get out of._

"Fine," she answered.

"Cool," Chandler said, turning back around to watch TV. Monica sighed with relief and ran up the stairs. This always made her feel lightheaded, but she didn't care. It was exercise, and exercise burned calories.

She shut the door, the taste of salad dressing still evident in her mouth. Why had she put the dressing on? She had asked for it on the side for a reason, and that reason was definitely not to _use _it.

Monica kneeled in front of the toilet bowl, opening it with a piece of toilet paper as usual. She sighed and collected herself, something she always did before she made herself sick. It always went faster when she was calm.

"So, we meet again," Monica said, staring at the porcelain in front of her. The brunette quickly stuck two fingers down her throat and began the quite intricate task of making herself throw up. It was not an easy thing, but Monica had become a master of sorts in the past couple of months. She had learned how to do it without making noise, which made her feel good. She liked being control of everything, including what sounds came out of her mouth.

She saw the green start to fill the toilet bowl and a wave of relief flushed through her. It was coming out. That was good.

Why, then, was she not happy?

All of the sudden, the youngest Geller heard the door knob turn. Before she knew what was going on, before she could stop herself, it was too late.

Knowing that someone had just seen, she quickly finished. She stood up, flushed the toilet, closed the lid, and then turned to face Chandler.

"Are you sick?" he asked. "Bad salad or something?"

"No, I'm okay," Monica lied, leaning against the sink. "Just, um...yeah, just a bad salad."

Chandler's eyes flickered from the toilet to Monica, and she could tell that he didn't believe her. However, it was hard for her to concentrate on the panic erupting inside of her when all she could focus on her his gorgeous blue eyes...

"But...your fingers were in your mouth," he said. "That...wait a second..."

"I'm fine," Monica insisted. "Had a bad salad, now it's out, so you don't have to worry about me."

"No, wait, Monica...were you making yourself throw up?" Chandler asked, stepping back a bit. He looked like he was about to call Ross.

Monica looked down, knowing she'd been caught in the act. "You can't tell anybody."

"How many times have you done this?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged.

"Uh...I don't know," she said. "Promise me you won't tell anyone, Chandler."

"Only if you don't do it anymore," he warned. Monica tried to hide her relief.

"Deal," she lied.

* * *

"Ms. Geller?" another nurse asked, walking into the room. Monica wiped a tear from her face.

"Yes?"

"It's time for your lunchtime meal."

Monica could feel her weak heartbeat increase at a rapid rate. This was evident on the heart rate monitor screen that was attached to her IV pole.

"It's okay, sweetie," the nurse insisted, setting a small tray on Monica's lap. "Calm down."

Monica looked down. In front of her was a small bowl of green beans, a small hamburger, and a packet of animal crackers. She looked away from it.

"Also, your brother is here to see you. Ross Geller, you know him, right?" the nurse asked.

Monica tilted her head. Ross had his quiz bowl in Philadelphia. How would he have travelled all the way to see her in between rounds? It was impossible. However, the sixteen year old was too tired to question this, so she simply nodded to the nurse that she knew him.

"Okay, I'll go buzz him up," she said. Monica waited until she closed the door to open her packet of animal crackers. She robotically took them out one by one and shoved them in between the thin mattresses of her hospital bed. She left three in the bag. That looked about right. Before she could start hiding the green beans, the doorknob turned.

And in walked none other than Chandler Bing.

"Chandler?" Monica gasped. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Shh, I'm Ross," he whispered. "I'm not Chandler, I'm Ross."

"Get the fuck out of here, Chandler," Monica said coldly. "Or else I'll report you for impersonating my brother."

Chandler, however, ignored Monica's attempts, dragging a chair up o her bed and sitting in it. "Nice room you have here. You even have a sink. What a deluxe suite!"

"Chandler, stop it."

Chandler put his head in his hands for a few moments. "Sorry. I make jokes when I'm nervous. But you already knew that."

Monica didn't answer him.

"Looks like a good burger," Chandler tried.

"You want it?" Monica laughed humorlessly. "Because I'm sure as hell not gonna eat it."

The room was silent for the next fifteen minutes. In that time, Monica picked at her green beans enough to finish half of the bowl and then pushed it away.

"Still looks like a good burger," Chandler finally spoke.

"Shut up," Monica mumbled, pushing it away too. "I'm full."

Five minutes passed. "Looks healthier than McDonald's," Chandler tried again. Monica said nothing.

Another five minutes. "Come on, it's going to get cold."

Ten more minutes. "Looks pretty juicy—"

"Fine!" Monica shouted at him. She picked up the burger and ate the whole thing within thirty seconds. She took bites that she wasn't sure she could fit in her mouth, but she did anyways. She was angry beyond belief at Chandler. Was he just here to make her miserable?

They were silent for what felt like an eternity to Monica. However, she was more focused on the fact that she could feel the rolls of fat multiplying by the second. She didn't get how Chandler could sit there, looking at her, and not be repulsed by what he saw.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly. Monica started sobbing uncontrollably and he took her hand, squeezing it. She ripped her hand away from his.

"Well, I hope you're happy, Chandler," she cried, putting her head in her hands. "I hope you're fucking happy."

She looked into his bright blue eyes and she saw the truth.

This didn't make him happy at all.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated in forever. Had a bit of writer's block and some small relapse issues, but I'm good now. It's so hard to read back over this because it's like looking back into my past; like I said before, I'm basing a lot of this off of personal experiences. But it always makes me feel better to get my anxieties and feelings out through writing. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter Five

**Perfection**

**By: broadwaystarxoxo**

***Warning* May be eating disorder triggering.**

* * *

_I'm lost inside the crowd, it's getting loud. I need you to see, I'm screaming for you. Please hear me._

_-Kelly Clarkson, "Hear Me"_

* * *

**Chapter Five**_  
_

_April 22__nd__, 1984._

She felt like a little kid. She knew she was much too old to be excited about her birthday, but she just couldn't help it. For the first time in a long time, she was genuinely smiling.

Monica looked over at the clock. It was 5:17 AM. In four minutes she would officially be fifteen years old. She could remember the year before, waiting to turn fourteen; she remembered mainly being concerned about the delicious cake her mother would bake every year. The difference between this year's excitement and last was that now Monica was eager to be fifteen forty-five pounds less than she had been at fourteen.

Not being able to take it any longer, Monica sprung out of her bed. After weighing herself (which had become as integrated into her morning as opening her eyes), Monica frowned in frustration. She had not lost a pound in at least a month. No matter how little she ate, no matter how much she exercised, she couldn't shed any more. She was not doing anything different from six months before, when the weight was coming off this way and that. She sighed and tried as best she could to shake off the feeling that she would never be good enough.

"Mom!" she said, walking into her parents' bedroom. "Sorry I'm up so early, but I'm so excited, and it's my birthday..."

Monica stopped when she saw that her parents were not in their beds. She found this odd; they had taken the morning off for her birthday. She knew they had; her father had told her the day before. So where were they?

Confused, Monica bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. The light was on, but no one was inside. Instead, there was a ripped half sheet of notebook paper lying haphazardly on the counter next to the microwave.

_Harmonica-_

_Last night after you went to bed so early, Ross got a phone call from the school's principal saying that the student council president was unavailable this morning to greet the governor, who is visiting your school today. It was very short notice, so Ross, being vice president, was asked to fill in! Your mother and I are tagging along to take some pictures. There are still some frozen waffles left in the freezer, just heat some up for breakfast. _

_-Dad_

Monica re-read her father's scrawly handwriting three or four times and then crumpled the paper up. She could feel tears pushing as she crushed it smaller and smaller, finally heading for the trashcan. When she got there, she suddenly turned around and walked towards the sink. Just throwing it away would not suffice; she was too angry and hurt to do that. Instead, she pushed it as far as she could down the drain and flipped the switch for the disposal. Somewhat satisfied, she turned it off and sat down on the cool kitchen tile.

They had forgotten her birthday.

As Monica wept into her arms, she realized that her own parents had just confirmed her greatest fear.

She was worthless.

* * *

"Everyone, sit down!" Mr. Newton demanded. "The bell does _not _dismiss you, I do. I was not finished explaining your homework for this weekend."

"But you're cutting into our lunch time," Joseph King whined. Most students at Lincoln High wanted to get to lunch as early as possible because the line took at least ten minutes to go through; for this reason, the students all sat down in a flash, waiting impatiently for Mr. Newton to finish. Monica, however, didn't mind. She didn't get lunch anyways.

When the stuffy old English teacher finally released the class, they were running like wild horses to the cafeteria. Monica knew Rachel was saving a seat for her, so she didn't join them. She walked at a normal pace, observing the flyers taped to the white hallways, trying her best to forget what her parents had done to her that morning.

Monica headed over to she and Rachel's usual spot: third table from the very right of the lunch room. She expected Rachel to give her a big birthday hug, as they always did on each other's birthdays. However, it never came.

"Hey, Rach," Monica said, attempting to smile cheerily. She started to sit down at the seat in front of Rachel, but instead was pushed away by a girl she didn't know.

"I'm sitting there," the girl snapped, sitting in Monica's usual seat. She was a pretty, skinny redhead with cute freckles dotting her cheeks.

"Uhh..." Monica stuttered, not sure of what to say. If there was one thing she hated, it was confrontation.

"Monica, this is my friend Kimberly," Rachel explained, smiling. "I hope you don't mind, but she asked me if she could sit here today because tomorrow's her birthday and she wanted to celebrate with us instead of her other friends. They've been backstabbing her lately. It's just for today and tomorrow, you have another place to sit for then, right?"

Monica was speechless. She couldn't believe the words coming out of her best friend's mouth. She looked around at the other girls at the table, who were suddenly very interested in their nails and their forks. She didn't really know these girls, but they always sat with her and Rachel because Rachel was popular. All of the other seats at the table were occupied by them.

"O-okay," Monica stuttered quietly. She wanted to add, _but today is my birthday,_ but she had figured out by now that Kimberly's birthday was more important to them. She turned around slowly and started to look for another seat. She forced the tears in her eyes to stay back; she couldn't cry in front of the entire school.

Kimberly mattered more because she was prettier. Prettier and skinnier and better than Monica would ever be.

Finally, she spotted an empty table with only one person sitting at it. She had seen the girl several times before: strumming her guitar outside the school in the car rider lanes, walking along the hallways in odd attire. She was always alone.

Monica slowly approached the table and sat down. She saw that the girl had not noticed her yet; instead, she was staring off into the crowd of people in the lunch line, occasionally laughing for no apparent reason.

"H-hi," Monica started, "is it okay if I sit here?"

The blonde girl immediately whipped her head back to the table to face Monica. She smiled. "I would be insulted if you didn't."

Monica didn't know whether it was a joke or not so she said nothing.

"What's your name, stranger?" the girl asked. She had very long, white-blonde hair.

"I'm Monica."

"I've seen you around before, Monica," the girl said, still smiling. "Why are you sitting here? Shouldn't you be with Bitchel Green?"

Monica was taken aback. She hated it when people talked bad about Rachel. She was about to become defensive, but decided against it. She needed somewhere to sit.

"Uh, I just decided not to sit with her today," Monica said quietly.

"Fine with me. I'm Phoebe," the girl said, extending her hand towards the timid brunette. Monica shook it. She suddenly felt a bit at ease but did not let her guard down. She liked how this girl didn't ask too many questions.

All was silent for a few minutes; Monica figured that was the end of their conversation. Phoebe slowly ate her veggie burger, staring at the lunch line once more. Monica tried to focus on things other than Rachel, but she kept on finding her gaze wandering towards that third table.

She barely noticed Phoebe staring at her a few moments later until she spoke up. "What, you're not going to eat anything?"

Monica felt her stomach twist, as it always did when she was confronted about her eating habits. "Uh, I'm just not very hungry."

Phoebe shrugged, turning back to watch the lunch line. "Fair enough," she said. After a few seconds, Monica decided to speak up.

"What...what are you looking at?" she asked curiously.

Phoebe didn't take her eyes off the crowd of teenagers waiting to get their trays. "People watching. It's pretty fun, you should try it sometime."

"How do you do that?"

Phoebe was quiet for a few moments. "I don't really know that many people here," she started. "They think I'm weird. That's okay, though; I know I'm weird. So I like to look at them, make up their names, their stories. I watch what they do."

Monica reluctantly scooted over to the chair next to Phoebe. "Who are you watching now?"

Phoebe pointed. Monica followed her finger to a beefy boy in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. "Him. That's Lance Kelly. He puts up a front of being a tough jock and stuff, but when he's alone, he loves to do art. He'll just sit in his room and paint whatever comes to his mind."

Monica laughed. "Wow. That's actually Chip Woodridge; he and Rachel hooked up a few months ago. I doubt he'd be into painting."

"Ruining the fun will get you nowhere in life," Phoebe whined.

For the rest of the lunch period, Monica and Phoebe made up stories and names for every person waiting in the lunch line. It was tougher for Monica to get creative, because she already knew most of the people, but she did not tell Phoebe anything about their real lives.

When the bell rang, Monica slung her backpack over her right shoulder and gave Phoebe a little wave goodbye.

"Wait! What grade are you in?" Phoebe asked before Monica walked away.

"I'm a freshman," Monica said, "just turned fifteen today."

"I'm a freshman too!" Phoebe exclaimed. Monica had learned quickly that Phoebe got very excited very easily. "Happy birthday!"

Monica smiled as she walked away. Who knew that a stranger she had never met before in her life would be the first person to wish her a happy birthday?

* * *

"Monica!" she heard a voice calling. It was the end of the day, and all Monica wanted to do was get home and sleep. But she turned around anyways.

"Oh. Hi, Chandler," she said. She started to walk faster. She hadn't had a full conversation with Chandler since he had found out about her throwing up. She did not want him to ask if she had done it since she'd promised not to, because she was a terrible liar and he would tell her parents.

"Mon, hold up!" he shouted. "I haven't seen you in forever."

"Look, Chandler, I'm really sorry, but today just hasn't been a very good day, and I'm not really in the mood to talk..."

"But I thought it was your birthday," he said, confused. Monica was so shocked that she stopped in her tracks.

"How did you know that?"

"Ross mentioned it a couple days ago," he admitted. "Uh, listen, I need to talk to you about something."

Monica held her breath, knowing very well where this was going.

Chandler continued. "Well I, um, I saw that you were sitting at a table near mine today, and you weren't eating. I know that you said you were okay a few months ago, but I really think that you aren't, and I was thinking that maybe you should go to the counselor..."

Monica noticed that he was very nervous and figured that he had confrontation problems as well. She attempted to smile. "Thanks, Chandler, but I'm fine. Really, I am. I've always been a big breakfast eater, ever since I was little, and so I've never really grasped the concept of eating lunch. I'm fine, I promise."

She was almost surprised at how smoothly she could lie when it came to food. Under other circumstances, she was the worst liar in the world.

Chandler flashed her a look of uncertainty but then decided to believe her. "Okay. That's cool, I guess. Well, um, I have to get going. Bye, Monica."

"Bye," she said. He turned around for a moment.

"I hope you have an awesome birthday, Monica," he said. "And I think you look really pretty today."

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered as he walked off.

_He called me pretty_, she thought gleefully. _A cute boy called me pretty. _

She felt like skipping on the way to her school bus. Her mind was flooded with happy thoughts about Chandler, about how he called her pretty, about how this day didn't go as terribly as she had anticipated.

Until...

_You're so stupid. He didn't really mean that. Can't you see it? He's a player. He wants to get you to like him so he can break your heart. He doesn't think you're pretty. No one does. _

Monica had grown somewhat accustomed to this voice in her head, partially because it wouldn't go away no matter how hard she tried.

_You're ugly, worthless, fat, and stupid. Why do you think everyone forgot it was your birthday? I'm trying to protect you, Monica. I'm trying to protect you from players like him. _

The fifteen year old sighed and sat down on her bus seat. Instead of resuming her thoughts about Chandler, she replayed in her head how many calories she had eaten in the past week. She calculated how many miles she could run before her parents got home from work and how many calories that would burn. She thought of ways to hide a whole bunch of snacks when she got home so that she could have an excuse for not eating her dinner.

She looked around her, watching the other girls in their bus seats. They were laughing and gossiping and comparing lip glosses. For the first time, Monica realized that she didn't want to be consumed with this anymore. She wanted to be normal and have fun and eat whatever the hell she wanted.

For the first time, Monica hated starving herself.

Monica stared out the window at the passing mailboxes, trying for the first time to forget about calories and food and numbers and being fat. However, she found it difficult. It was like trying to cut a block of iron with a plastic knife.

As much as she hated it, this was a part of her now. And there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

She really didn't mean to do it. But something switched inside her, and instead of flushing all those Oreos down the toilet, she found herself shoving them, one by one, into her mouth. It was almost robotic; she didn't want them, she wasn't hungry, but she kept on chewing. She kept on swallowing.

She knew what she had to do as soon as she finished the box, and without hesitation, she threw them all back up.

She could hear the doorbell ring as she was doing it, but she figured Ross could open it. Monica was still going when she heard Rachel's voice, asking where Monica was. Monica knew she would be coming upstairs and forced herself to hurry up. Her fingers went as far as they could go and then she began to see blood. She tried to stop but the blood kept coming out.

"Monica?" she heard Rachel calling from the stairs. "Monica, where are you? I'm so sorry about today, I forgot..."

Monica took one last heave and then laid down on the cool bathroom tile. The world was spinning around her. She tried to get up but found that she could not. She took deep breaths but it hurt her throat.

Before she could get herself together, the door opened, and there stood Rachel. "Mon?" she gasped. "Are you okay?" She saw Rachel's eyes shift to the toilet. 'Did you just throw up or something? What's going on?"

Monica was about to answer, but then her whole world went black.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey guys! I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in forever! My older sister took me to London as an early birthday present and I was there for a few weeks, so I didn't have any time at all to write. I also apologize if this story is getting a bit repetitive, but as you can see based on the cliffhanger something big is going to happen next chapter!

I have also been getting a few PM's and reviews from people that were concerned that this story may be very painful for me to write and it is causing some of my relapse issues. First of all I want to thank you so much for being concerned about me and my health, it means a lot to me! But I just want to clarify real quick that this story is not very painful for me to write, probably because I know it will have a good ending after all of the bad stuff. It is (at times) difficult to read back over and really think about. I'm not sure why. But I don't really read back over it very often, I just write and post :) My therapist says that writing about your problems as if they're happening to another person can sometimes be beneficial in letting go of your past. I don't know if that makes sense but it works for me! Writing this story is actually helping me a lot. So thank you for your concerns but just wanted to let y'all know that I'm doing fine!


	7. Chapter Six

**Perfection**_  
_

**By: broadwaystarxoxo**

***Warning* This is eating disorder triggering. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

_The dark is too hard to beat, and I'm not keeping up, the strength I need to push me._

_-Ellie Goulding, "Lights"_

* * *

**Chapter Six**_  
_

She was in a field. Or maybe a meadow, or pasture a of some kind? Monica couldn't tell. All she felt was the grass beneath her criss crossed legs and the light breeze that blew her dark brown hair in all sorts of different directions. All she could see for miles and miles was the green, lush pasture, not a tree or obscurity in sight.

It was perfect.

"Monica," she heard someone say. She turned around, but could see no one.

However, she saw a small lake. It added to the perfection of this mysterious place.

And there were people. Jumping into the lake, laughing, dancing, swimming, singing along to music that Monica had never heard.

"Monica," she heard once more. That voice was very familiar, but one she for some reason could not place.

"What?"

"Monica, isn't it wonderful?" she heard someone say in the same voice. Monica looked back out to the lake and the people. It was a few hundred yards away.

"Yeah, it's perfect," she replied.

Monica sensed a presence and whipped around. Standing there was a person that looked familiar to Monica.

And then, she realized, it was herself.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Monica...I'm you," she explained. "The upgraded you, that is."

Monica didn't know what to say to that. As she looked her clone up and down, she realized it was true. This Monica's face was clear and her eyelashes long. She was flat stomached and had a thigh gap. Her hair was perfectly styled and her teeth remarkably bright.

"Come and play with us, Mon," her clone invited, walking towards the lake.

"I don't know you," Monica blurted.

"Of course you do. I'm your future. I'm what you want to be. Now, come and play with us."

Monica reluctantly stood up and followed her perfect clone, unsure of what was going on. Something didn't feel right about following Perfect Mon, but what else was she going to do?

A few yards away from the lake, Monica got a closer look at the other teenagers there. They, like Perfect Mon, had absolutely no flaws. They were all gorgeous. They were all thin and perfect.

Monica suddenly felt self conscious. She wasn't perfect like the others. She didn't fit in.

Perfect Mon turned around and smirked. "Oh, that's right... you aren't quite there yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Only perfect people can have fun with us."

Monica knew it had been coming, but it still felt like a stab to her gut. "But... I'm not though..."

"Don't worry. You'll get there. Just a few more pounds. Just a few more pounds and you're perfect like us. None of us have love handles. None of us have big cheeks or chafe when we walk. You do."

Monica looked down at the grass, ashamed and embarrassed.

Perfect Mon put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Don't worry. We're all rooting for you. You can do it."

"I'm trying," Monica said quietly. "I'm trying so hard. I fast for days at a time, I...I can't stop, and I just want to be perfect..."

"You aren't trying hard enough," Perfect Mon said firmly. "Try harder. That's what I did when I was exactly like you. Now look at me."

"But, I..."

Perfect Mon started to walk away. "Monica, we all want you to play with us! Just a few more pounds and you can play with us!"

"Monica!" she suddenly heard a different voice shout. She could still see Perfect Mon winking at her.

"You can do it," she said.

"I hate it," Monica whimpered.

"It's the only way you'll be like us."

"Mon!"

Suddenly, Monica felt a cold rush and opened her eyes.

The ceiling above her was blurry. Monica could feel her contacts burning a bit in her eyes from sleeping with them on.

"Monica, are you awake?" she heard Rachel shout.

"Y...yeah...Rach?" Monica sat up, confused. She sat up too fast, causing her eyes to fog up from dizziness. She lay back down on the cold bathroom tile.

She could hear Rachel breathe a sigh of relief. "God, Mon, you scared the living crap out of us. I thought you were dead. You've been out cold for twenty minutes."

Monica nodded. "Uh, sorry. That school lunch must've done something to me. I had to throw up as soon as I got home..."

"Monica, stop it with the bullshit. I saw you. I know."

Monica's heart stopped. Rachel couldn't know. Chandler already did, and now her...

"Rach. I'm fine. Calm down."

"No, you aren't, I saw you...you had your fingers down your throat, like that eating disorder poster in health class."

_Eating disorder. _ Monica had enough brains to know what an eating disorder was, but things had never clicked until now. _Not eating. Making myself throw up. Starving myself. Oh my god._

Despite all her thoughts, she kept herself cool on the outside. "Come on, don't be serious. Fingers down my throat? That's disgusting."

_Calories calories how many calories did you have today you're so fat why did you eat that you're trying to lose weight calories fat calories fat you ate all those oreos how many did you have how many calories is that you have to find out you have to you must._

Monica couldn't get those thoughts out. She felt a tear going down her cheek. She couldn't stand it anymore.

But she couldn't break down in front of Rachel.

Rachel blew air out from her lips, and the two teens were silent as the air conditioner whirred.

Monica couldn't hide it from Rachel any longer. But she just could not admit it out loud. Rachel was a smart girl; she knew Monica wasn't eating much lately, and now she knew this.

She looked into her best friend's brown eyes and that was all Rachel needed.

"Does Ross know?" she asked, keeping herself calm.

Monica shook her head, sitting up slowly. She loosely wrapped her arms around her knees. "Just Chandler."

"Ross's cute friend? You know he has a crush on you, right?" Rachel said matter-of-factly.

"Nah," Monica said, brushing it off. It felt like weeks ago rather than hours that he had called her pretty. She felt like she had been out for days, not twenty minutes.

"Does Ross know I passed out?" Monica asked Rachel. They were both leaning against the bathroom cabinet.

Rachel shook her head. "I tried to call him up, but he didn't answer. I think he went over to someone's house."

Monica shrugged. "Yeah. Probably a study buddy day."

Rachel rolled her eyes and laughed. "Sounds pretty accurate."

The two teens were silent for what seemed like years to Monica. She focused on a tile on the floor, not wanting to think about the dream she had and how real it felt.

Rachel finally broke the silence. "So...what happens now?"

"We pretend like this never happened right here," Monica said firmly. "And you don't say a word."

"Monica, this isn't healthy."

"You don't think I know that?" Monica snapped. "This is my life, not yours."

Rachel gave her a look. Monica shifted uncomfortably. "Mon, you aren't really trying to tell me that this is what you want, is it?"

_Don't give in you're so weak throw up as soon as she leaves you still have time you didn't get out all the calories yet fat fat fat calories calories you're over your limit ._

Monica drew in a shaky breath. _Shut up, stop saying that. Please_, she thought to herself. She tried to make her mind a blank canvas.

_Tell her you're okay make her leave calories food calories and then throw up the rest food fat thigh gap._

"Rach, I'm fine. Come on, believe me," Monica promised. "Please. Just forget about it. I'll stop. I promise."

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, fine. Just promise never to do that again. Don't scare me like that ever again."

"Promise." Monica held out her pinky and Rachel linked her to it.

"I have to go now. Tell your parents I said hey," Rachel said, walking out of the bathroom. She popped her head back in a moment later. "Oh, and happy fifteenth birthday."

Monica smiled and listened to Rachel bound down the stairs. She listened to the door close and then inched her way over to the toilet.

_I'm sorry Rachel, _was her last thought as she, using all the strength she had left, threw up the remaining contents of her stomach.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry it's been so long. Had writer's block. Sorry this is so short too, but it leads somewhere I promise. Thanks for reading & review (:


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